


A Dangerous Game to Play

by The_RedQueen_Supremacy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, F/M, Game of Thrones References, Game of Thrones-esque, Inspired by Game of Thrones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4901866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_RedQueen_Supremacy/pseuds/The_RedQueen_Supremacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Gendry had left the Brotherhood with Arya. If he had been at The Twins with her during the Red Wedding. If he had followed her to Braavos. If Gendry had been there for Arya when she needed him the most. If only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. M'Lady

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings! This is my first ever fanfiction, though I've been a silent member of the fanfic community for years. I've finally decided to make some of my own, though. This story spans over an expanded amount of time. It starts with Arya being fourteen, then jumping to almost 16 years old. I do have gaps in time from a few days all the way up to a month to skip the dull moments. This is still a working progress, and once it's complete I'll change the statues here.
> 
> Statues: Still In Process of Writing

The cave was dank and chilly. The only light to illuminate it was a small fire, the flames dancing on the walls. Arya had been searching all over for Gendry only to find him clanking metal together, inspecting it thoroughly. “What are you doing?” She asked as she approached. Her voice came off more accusatory than curious. 

Gendry looked up from his work, careful not to make eye contact with her for too long. “Just mending Lord Beric’s armor.” 

“Why?” She demanded.

He sighed, choosing his words wisely before he answered. “I’m going to stay on and smith for The Brotherhood.”

Arya took a step forward, her hands clenching at her sides. “Have you lost your mind?” In the past she might have called him the Bull, but she never thought he’d be so completely thick-headed. “When the Lannister’s find this place you think they’ll spare the smiths?” Her voice rose, echoing down the cave walls. “They’ll cave your head in with your own hammer.”

Interrupting her rant with a roll of his eyes, Gendry tried to reason with her. “Lannister’s wanted to kill me long before I joined The Brotherhood.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Arya fought, shaking her head. Her heart hammered in her chest and she could feel the threat of her skin breaking under her nails, which were pressed tightly to her shaking palms. 

Gendry shook his head, looking up at the ceiling before meeting her pleading eyes. “I want to.” He voiced softly. “They need good men.”

“Robb needs good men, too.” Arya retorted. 

He sat up straight at that, studying her for a moment. His eyes were doubtful and pained in a way Arya didn’t understand. 

“We’re leaving. Tomorrow.” Her voice came out weaker than she intended, though the demand was still strong in its threat. “And then-“

“What?” Gendry interrupted harshly. “Serve him? I’ve served men my entire life.” He paused. “I served Master Mott at King’s Landing and he sold me to The Watch. I served Lord Tywin at Harrenhal, wondering every day if I’d get tortured or killed.” He shook his head, brows furrowed in anger at the memories. “I’m done serving.”

Arya wasn’t done fighting. She never would be. “You just said you were serving Lord Beric.” She pointed out, her tone of voice suggesting he was an idiot for staying.

“He. . . may be their leader, but they chose him.” He reasoned. “These men are brothers. They’re a family.”

Arya knew in that moment she’d lost him. Lost the one person she had left in all the Seven Kingdoms. She turned on her heels, walking away, defeated.

Gendry glanced up, resting his hands on his thighs. “I never had a family.” He called to her, though his voice was soft. His eyes met the floor of the cave, not able to watch Arya walk away from him. 

She stopped in her tracks, turning around. Gendry was surprised to see the pained expression on her face. Her eyes were glassy. Arya never cried. “I can be your family.” Her intent was strong, but her voice was soft in comparison. There was a flicker of hope left and she wasn’t going to snuff it out without a fight.

A soft, sad smile spread across Gendry’s face at her proposal. This little girl, who’d gone through more loss and hardship than half the men in The Brotherhood, hell The Seven Kingdoms, was asking for him to leave with her. To not be yet another person to abandon her. 

He pondered that for a moment before the reality of their situation it set in. He was a lowborn bastard with a bounty on his head. Arya was a highborn. A Stark. He couldn’t touch her even if he wanted to. “You wouldn’t be my family,” he began softly. “You’d be m’lady,” bowing his head at the title. 

It was a low blow, he knew. She turned away at the name, refusing to let him see the tear roll down her cheek. As she began to walk away, Gendry’s face fell. Before he could do anything, Arya turned around, her cheek reddened from rubbing her skin with the course material of her tunic. 

“You’re right,” she began angrily, “and as your Lady, I demand you stop with these stupid notions and leave with me.” She took a few steps forward, coming back into the firelight. “These men don’t need you. I need you.” Arya’s voice cracked but she was too desperate to care. 

Gendry could only stare at her, squinting his eyes as he battled with himself. He couldn’t recall many moments in his life where he’d been truly happy before he’d met Arya. But things were different, now. Arya wasn’t so little anymore. She’d grown up, mentally at least. She was stronger. She could conquer the world if she wanted to, and without him. But, could he leave her? Was he unselfish enough to let her go, truly? With a sigh of defeat, he already knew that answer. “As my Lady commands.”


	2. The Red Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya escape the Brotherhood but find themselves caught in battle at Riverun.

Something strong shook at Arya’s shoulder as a hand came down on her mouth. Her eyes flew open at that, struggling against the attacker. Her hand swung wildly, hitting a well-muscled abdomen. “Seven Hells.” The voice whispered angrily. “Arya. It’s me.” Her fist was suddenly pinned to the ground at her side. As her sleepy eyes began to focus, she saw Gendry leaning over her. She shoved at his shoulder with her free hand and he let go of her as if she were a wildfire. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” She demanded in a harsh tone, quickly shrugging on her tunic over her undershirt. 

“Stannis’s army. They’re just south of the horizon and coming this way. We have to leave.” 

Arya got up hastily, ignoring Gendry’s outstretched hand for assistance. As they exited the cave, she squinted in the near darkness. “It’s barely dawn,” Arya observed, glancing at Gendry. “What were you doing up so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He clipped. “I was bathing in the river when I saw the Baratheon sigil coming this way.” 

Observing him, Arya noticed his hair darkened by water and his britches were messily tied up. She didn’t know why, but she was skeptical of his statement. Never had she heard a man take a bath because he couldn’t sleep. “Well then, we ought to get going.” 

Arya started towards the horses when Gendry grabbed her arm. “Where are you going? Intend on introducing Lord Stannis to The Brotherhood yourself?” He demanded.

She yanked her arm out of his grip and began untying a horse from its post. “You expect us to gain enough distance from Stannis’s men on foot?” She challenged. A moment later she swung herself up onto the saddle and grabbed onto the reins. “Are you coming or would you like to smith for the Baratheon’s as well?” 

Gendry sighed, following suit with the horse left of Arya. He was a bit messier with his descend onto his horse, obviously not as practiced as she was with riding. 

“Nice of you to join us, Ser Waters.” Arya replied sarcastically before kicking at the horse, finding her rhythm easily in a gallop. Gendry followed closely behind. 

 

\---------------------------------

 

The past two weeks had been the same. Ride all day, stop at night to hunt food and rest for another day of riding. Arya’s thighs ached from being on a saddle eighteen hours a day. She was dehydrated and wanted nothing more than a hot bath. She was about to suggest stopping early for the day when a cart carrying weaponry and soldiers on horseback were heard laughing below them. 

Arya hopped off her horse, directing it towards a tree that was out of sight of the approaching men before crouching down and peering over the small cliff. Gendry followed suit, though he sat on his knees and hunched over, trying to better conceal his much larger frame.

“Robb Stark has another thing comin’ to ‘im when he gets to The Twins tomorrow, I’ll tell ya that.” One of the soldiers boasted. “You should’ve seen Lord Frey when he discovered Robb had married. And when he promised himself to a Frey girl?” He shook his head. 

“Looks like one thing he didn’t get from his daddy was nobility.” Another commented. The small group of men jeered at that. 

“Lady Stark is with ‘im, though.” A soldier piped in suggestively. “Think she’s as beautiful as they say?” The voices began to muffle and fade as they distanced themselves from Arya and Gendry’s hiding spot. 

Arya couldn’t breathe. She had known they were nearing the Riverlands, but she didn’t think they were so close. “Robb,” she spoke, finally letting out the air she’d been holding in. “My brother. He’s – he’s at the Twins. With my mother.” She sat up, fumbling towards the horses when Gendry pulled her back down. 

“And what do you think you’ll do, tonight?” He asked, an eye brow arching at her skeptically. “Didn’t you hear? Robert and Lady Stark won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“So?” Arya demanded, trying to shrug him off her, which in turn made his grip on her arm tighten. 

“So? The Seven Kingdoms are looking for you. They either want to protect you, send you off to King’s Landing, or use you as a bargaining chip.” He reasoned. “You heard yourself that your brother isn’t on the best terms with Lord Frey. It’s best to wait until tomorrow, when your family has arrived.”

Arya furrowed her eye brows. She knew he was right, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to barge into the East Tower and demand she wait for her family there. “What do you suppose we do in the meantime?” She snapped, standing up. 

“You’ve been around here before, haven’t you?” He asked.

She bit the inside of her cheek. She had been here before. It’s the only way through to the South without setting back a trip by days. This was the path Arya took when she went with Sansa and her father to King’s Landing. It felt like decades had gone by since then, when it really had only been a little over two years. 

“Yeah,” she finally responded. “There’s a cave with a waterfall that connects to the main river not too far from here.” It was actually a place her father had shown her the day they left the Twins to continue south. “We can make a fire and clean up a bit.” 

Gendry nodded, grabbing the reins of their horses, allowing Arya to lead the way.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

With the horses tide up after being watered and Gendry chewing on the last bit of rabbit left, Arya stood up and exited the mouth of the cave, looking up at the sky. They had at least an hour left of light and after traveling until dusk for the past week, she grew restless. The crash of water could be heard from their temporary shelter and the temptation to wander grew to be unbearable. 

“I’m going to the waterfall,” she called over her shoulder.

“Don’t get eaten by a bear,” Gendry warned playfully. 

Arya rolled her eyes, walking silently across the forest floor. She focused on her footfalls and the quickness of her steps. Syrio’s lessons echoed in her head. 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Once she reached the falls, she glanced around. Thick woods covered the small alcove and it was just far enough away that Arya lost sight of the glowing fire at the cave. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on top of a rock near the water. 

Arya dove in, head first. The water was surprisingly warm and it felt wonderful on her aching muscles. She ran her fingers through her greasy hair, washing the dirt out. She hadn’t noticed until now, but her hair was starting to grow out, falling just below her chin and brushing her shoulders while it was wet. 

As she was washing grime and dirt off her skin, she noticed – or rather felt – small, course hairs between the apexes of her thighs. She gritted her teeth, submerging under the water and opening her eyes. 

It was another world, in the water. The floor was made up of boulders, roughly fifteen feet below her. Tiny fish swam near the bottom, away from the strong current created by the waterfall. Arya let out the air she was holding, swimming deeper into the water. 

Time stood still, here. The threat of war and the ever changing politics didn’t affect the life of the river. She felt completely relaxed for the first time since she’d left Winterfell. The only thing that could bring her back to reality was the burn deep in her chest, her lungs screaming for air. 

Once Arya broke the surface, she gasped in surprise, suddenly face to face with a direwolf. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Nymeria had followed her this entire time, but rather than cowering away or fighting the animal off, Arya slowly swam towards it, curious. 

The wolf relaxed its defensive stance after a moment, realizing the girl in front of it meant no harm. It padded forward, tongue lolling out of its mouth as it panted against the warm air. Taking that as a sign of good faith, Arya leaned out of the water, her arm outstretched to allow the wolf to inspect her. 

Arya’s hand was mere inches away from the wolf’s neck when heavy footfalls broke both her and the wolf’s attention. It looked back at Arya before bolting off into the woods. Moments later Gendry appeared, looking around wildly. 

“What are you doing?” Arya demanded, pressing herself against the rocks to conceal herself the best she could. 

Gendry’s eyes followed her voice to her face, backing up when he realized she was completely undressed. “Looking for you.” He retorted, a grim set to his face. He looked uncomfortable. “You’ve been gone over an hour. I assumed it wouldn’t take an hour for a Lady to bathe.”

Arya glanced at the sky, noticing the vibrant reds and oranges the sunset had created. “Sorry,” she quipped, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. “I haven’t gone for a swim in a while.” She reasoned. 

Opening his mouth to reply with a snide comment, Gendry just as quickly closed it. He was taken back by her apology and lack of resistance. He sighed. “Get dressed. Soon you’ll lose any light left to guide you back.” With that, he turned on his heels and headed back towards the cave. 

 

\------------------------------------

 

The next morning, Arya woke with a start. Her heart hammered against her chest, threatening to break right through her ribcage. She had dreamt of the direwolf. Yet, nothing within the dream made any logical sense. Direwolves didn’t live so far south, did they? And it had appeared and then vanished so quickly, Arya was beginning to believe she had imagined the entire thing.

“I’m going mental.” She muttered, pushing back hair that had fallen into her face.

At that moment, Arya was very aware that she was alone. It was morn, what with the bright sun shining through into the cave. She got up, stretching out her sore muscles before walking over to the fire pit. A few, crumbled logs had burning embers, so Arya stomped it out. Both horses were still tied up, so Gendry couldn’t be far. The only logical places he could be were the woods for hunting – which she doubted – and the falls. 

Grumbling something about bulls and stupidity, Arya went off towards the sound of rushing water. 

 

O O O

 

Gendry was waist deep in the water when Arya approached. He was cupping water in the palm of his hand to wash the rest of the grime off his torso and arms. It was curious, to Arya. “Why don’t you just get all the way in?” She said boldly, climbing onto a boulder and sitting atop it. 

“Gods,” Gendry cursed, not aware of her presence until she spoke up. “Arya,” he began disapprovingly. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything about privacy?”   
Arya shrugged, picking at a hole at the knee of her britches. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you before,” she pointed out, raising a challenging – and Gendry could sense mocking – eye brow. 

“That,” he said through gritted teeth, “was before I knew you were a highborn lady.” Gendry did, however, relax slightly and continued washing his skin. He did angle himself slightly away from her, though. 

“Really?” Arya asked dryly. “You’re going to start the “lady” bullshit this early in the morning?”

The corners of Gendry’s mouth pulled into a playful smile. “Is that really how a lady should talk?” He mocked. 

“Careful, Waters. I hadn’t planned on killing anyone today – but I can make an exception.” Arya warned, her grey eyes darkening. 

Gendry raised his hands in defeat, crouching down to wet his dirty hair. 

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just swim out past the drop off.” Her voice was light, as if she were speaking to herself. 

“Because,” Gendry said through gritted teeth, “I can’t swim.”

Arya sat there, staring at him. Surely he was joking? “Your last name is Waters, but you can’t swim?” Silent laughter shook her shoulders until she couldn’t contain herself, and a girlish giggle sounded from her throat. Arya had to catch herself with her arm, for if not, she would’ve fallen off the boulder. 

Maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe it was the situation at hand, or maybe it was the fact that a large, seventeen year old boy couldn’t swim that amused the girl so much.   
Gendry, however, did not find humor in the situation. He splashed at her, getting her tunic and face wet. “Fuck off, Stark.” He muttered before turning around to finish bathing. 

“Oh don’t be so pissy,” Arya chided, regaining her composure. “You should learn, you know.” She stood up, suddenly, climbing around the rocks towards the bushes, looking for berries. 

Gendry looked over his shoulder, watching her with a skeptical look etched across his face. “I think I’ll take my chances with the shallow water.” 

Arya only shrugged, stripping a branch of its dark berries. “Suit yourself.” She popped a few in her mouth, scrunching her nose at the bitterness. They weren’t completely ripe, yet. 

Seeing her distraction, the boy climbed out of the water, shaking out his shaggy, black hair like a dog. He fumbled with his clothes, keeping his back to the girl.  
Hearing the movement, Arya turned slightly, observing Gendry as he moved. His shoulders and back were toned with muscle; years of smithing built an impressive physique.   
Her eyes trailed lower, curiously. His spine cut through the smooth expanse of his back, like a river cutting through a mountain. At his hips, there were two defined indentations, such like those she’s seen in fat babies’ cheeks. His skin disappeared under his smallclothes and the britches he was shrugging on. 

Feeling eyes on him, Gendry glanced over his shoulder. Arya, however, was turned with her back to him, inspecting the fruit in her hand. Sighing, he pulled his tunic over his head. “It’s a half a day’s trip to reach the West Tower,” he began, walking over to her. “We’ll arrive near sundown.” He paused for a moment. “We should ready the horses.” Gendry reached over Arya’s shoulder to pluck a few berries from her open hand. 

As they trudged back, Arya smacked his shoulder.

 

\-------------------------------

 

“What now?” Gendry muttered, surveying the crowded road. Guards were blocking the entrance into the Towers. No one was allowed in unless they were tending to the wedding being held, tonight. 

A mischievous smile spread across Arya’s face. “I have an idea.”

 

O O O 

 

Somewhere between stealing a wagon and Gendry being denied entrance, Arya had disappeared through the gates. She had to admit that one of the only benefits of being small was how easily she could slip through crowds and go unnoticed. 

However, when she came into view of where the wedding was being held, two soldiers were blocking a closed door. That would prove to be a challenge. She couldn’t climb like Bran and fighting off soldiers without creating havoc wasn’t possible. 

Suddenly, Arya heard screams from just inside the doorways. Agony wailed throughout but knights of the Twins didn’t budge. As if they didn’t heard the animalistic howls behind them. 

A snarl echoed from outside. Arya looked around wildly, noticing cages bolted against the stone wall of the castle. A direwolf stood aggressively, its hackles raised and teeth bared, calling for its partner. “Grey Wind.” She breathed. 

The doors slammed open, shouts coming from within the walls demanding assistance. As men disappeared through the doors, Arya raced to the wolf, fumbling with the latch. 

With a final click, the door swung open, Grey Wind springing into action at the doorway, snarling and clawing at the wood that blocked him from Robb. Her hand was on knob when Arya felt strong hands grasping her forearms. She kicked out, trying to reach for Needle. “It’s me, you little idiot.” Gendry snarled, wrapping is arms around her to keep her from stabbing him. 

“You bull! Robert! He’s in trouble!” She cried, sinking her nails into his hands, hoping he’d release her. He flinched against the pain but didn’t break his hold on her. 

“Look around!” He whispered angrily. “This was an ambush. If you go in there, you’ll certainly die.”

She kicked his shins and dug her nails into his skin until she felt warm liquid slicken her palms. Blood. “So let me die! They need help!”

Completely caught off guard, Gendry let her go, shaking out his hands. Assuming he was allowing her to walk into certain death, she turned towards the doors. 

The last thing Arya heard before she blacked out was “I’m sorry, m’lady.”


	3. Valar Morghulis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Red Wedding leaves Arya distraught and without a home. Her drive leads her to the only place she can think to go, where it would be safe. The Free City of Braavos.

The back of her head pounded. Everything seemed too loud. Too bright. 

For the next few hours, Arya slipped in and out of consciousness. It wasn’t until midafternoon that she came to. 

She sat up slowly, soothing the swollen bump on the back of her head with her palm. Arya blinked away her blurry vision, coming to focus on the large, grey fur resting against her leg. Grey Wind. His jowls were coated in dried blood and his left ear had an inch long cut straight through. 

Next, Arya noticed a man sleeping a few yards away, his head propped up on a tree root. Gendry. Within seconds, Arya was on top of him, slapping his cheek with every muscle in her arm. He bolted awake, sitting up on his forearms in surprise. “You bastard!” She screamed, slapping him again. “You fucking idiot!” A punch to his chest. “I told you to leave me alone! To let me go!” She swung at his jaw. “How dare you!” 

Gendry, disoriented, caught off guard, and utterly confused, didn’t block the blows until moments before her fist made contact with his left eye, catching it with his hand tightly, sitting up straight now. He grabbed her other wrist, feeling her rage shaking against him. 

“If I hadn’t done what I did, you’d be dead. Or worse. Tortured. Raped. Used as a bargaining chip towards the Lannister’s. Forced into marriage to control the North.” He spoke harshly. His eyes, however, were reproachful. 

Arya relaxed her shoulders slightly, though her jaw was still rigid and her grey eyes were dark and fuming. “And what of Robb? Of my mother?” She spat.

He couldn’t meet her eyes for a moment, so instead he looked at her small hands captured by his. They were nearly half the size of his yet they still held strength and scars. They were anything but fragile yet they weren’t bulky or swollen. They were no hands of a Lady. Nor were they hands of a working man. They were hands of a fighter. Hands of a knight. 

Gendry finally met her eyes, looking through his shaggy, ruffled, black hair. “Dead. They…” He paused, considering editing his words to make it a bit less gruesome for her. However, this was Arya he was talking to. She deserved better than a harsh story tied with ribbon. “They brought the bodies out on horses. Put heads of wolves on them.”

To his utter surprise, a silent tear rolled down her cheek. Just one. Leaving a wet trail down to her chin. Her face was stone cold. Emotionless. 

“I’m so sorry, Arya.” Gendry murmured. 

She stood up at that, pulling her arms out of his strong grip. “Where are we now?”

“North East of Riverun.” He sighed, standing up. “We rode for most of the night, in case you had been spotted.” Gendry watched as the girl wiped the streak left from the tear from her cheek and walked over to Grey Wind, who had woken up after the commotion of Arya attacking Gendry. 

He squinted his eyes in pleasure as she dug her fingers into the thick fur behind his ear, scratching. 

Arya had grown since the last time Gendry had looked at her. Honestly, truly, really looked at her. She wasn’t much taller than when he met her two years ago. A few inches at most. If he had to guess, he’d stay she was no more than 5’2”. Her face was longer, though. Less childish; it was elegant and beautiful. Her hair curled under her chin, brushing her shoulders at times. Her britches seemed tight at her hips. Gendry was taken back. When did Arya get hips? And it was obvious, despite her attempts at wrapping her torso tightly with cloth, that small teats had developed under her tunic. 

Arya caught his observant eyes and snapped at him, “What?”

“Is there anywhere I can take you?” Gendry asked quickly, recovering from his thoughts. 

The girl-turned-woman shrugged her shoulders, biting the inside of her cheek. “I have an Aunt. Lady Lysa of Arryn. Though I haven’t see her since I was a babe.” There was a voice inside her pleading her not to go. 

The coin in her pocket burned, reminding her. “Valar Morghulis.” She murmured, pulling the gift out, twirling it in her fingers. 

“What?” Gendry’s face was contorted with confusion, shifting uncomfortably. 

“All men must die,” Arya spoke to herself. “Jaqen. He’s from Braavos.” Finally, Arya looked up at Gendry. “I know where we can go.”

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

“. . . the most satisfying thing I’ve ever seen!” A voice boasted in the distance. The smell of fire and food wafted from the same direction. Arya looked over her shoulder, catching Gendry’s eye. He shrugged his shoulders, maneuvering the reins so the horse wouldn’t reach the path to the commotion. 

A frustrated huff came from Arya as she snagged the rope from his hands, kicking the horse to canter. “You can’t shy from everything,” she snapped at him, knowing he was about to scold her. 

“It may have been a sight for you – but beheading that wolf and sticking it on that fuck’s head was the highlight of my existence.” A knight bragged. Arya halted the horse when she noticed the Twin’s sigil carved on a chest plate. These men were talking about Robert. About her mother. 

Before Gendry could drag her away or make a fool of himself, Arya slid off the horse, flicking her wrist to send Grey Wind away. He padded silently into the brush. 

“Sir?” She mumbled, hesitantly coming up to the three knights circled around a fire. The one who spoke of murdering the wolf glanced up, looking uninterested. “Can I please have a bit of your food?” Arya nodded to the loaf of bread peeking out of a sack next to his leg. 

“Fuck off, girl.” He growled, turning to continue his story.

“I can pay,” she spoke urgently, fishing the coin from her pocket. The knight turned, lazily, ready to tell her to piss off, when he recognized the Baavosi writing etched on it. He reached for it but Arya let it slip from her fingers, falling onto the forest floor. “Oops.” 

The next moments were a blur. Arya could only recall grabbing Needle from her waist, grabbing the man’s shoulder and sliding her sword smoothly into his neck.   
She whispered, “Valar Morghulis,” into his ear as his body fell against hers. Blood soaked the front of her tunic. 

The two knights stood up at that, unsheathing their swords. Gendry followed suit, coming up behind her. The Riverrun men paused, noticing the Bull’s brute strength and size. Luckily, they were so distracted by his size that they didn’t realize his sword hand was trembling. 

One man ran directly towards Arya, his sword coming down at her. She stood side face, tucking her body and maneuvering away from the blow. Her sword had no chance of fighting against his thick steel but she was such a small target, he’d have to be quick as lightening to hit her. 

Gendry bounded towards the other knight, realizing they were going to both take Arya before going towards himself. The first strike was strong, making him stumble. Arya’s scolding words from Harrenhal echoed in his mind as he blocked another blow. 

A snarl erupted from the woods. Grey Wind darted out from hiding, leaping onto the back of the attacker who had Arya on her back. The man shouted in pain, feeling jaws lock at the base of his throat. Taking the distraction, Arya scrambled to her feet, grabbing the sword of the fallen knight and swinging it towards his neck, slicing it to the bone. 

Her heart pounded in her chest and she was panting. Grey Wind released the limp body, licking the fresh blood from his jowls. 

An angry cry ripped from Gendry’s throat. He brought down his sword quickly, the steel digging into the side of the knight’s neck. The solider fell to his knees, then fell over completely. Slowly, Gendry pulled the sword from his flesh, wiping the blood off onto the dead man’s furs. 

“Next time,” he panted, “warn me before you do something stupid.” 

 

O O O 

 

That night, they ran into a small Inn. With the gold they snatched from the Riverrun Knight’s pockets, they had well enough to eat, rent a room, and even pay for a bath. 

Once in the room, Gendry peeled off his tunic, tossing it into the corner. He had washed it out at a river they had passed but the blood stains remained. He lied on the lumpy bed, staring up at the ceiling as Arya undressed to bathe. 

As she pulled down her britches, she noticed dark blood stained on her underclothes. She paused, thinking. Arya was fourteen, now. Her mother had sat down with her – and Sansa – to explain Moon Blood. If she recalled correctly, her mother had said it would hurt, however, Arya only felt a dull ache in her stomach. For a moment, she considered the idea that it wasn’t her blood; she was covered in the blood of the knight she had killed, today. But she wasn’t that dim to convince herself. Technically, Arya was now a woman.  
She settled herself in the water and began lathering her skin with soap when a knock sounded on the door. She brought her knees up to her chest, alarmed. Gendry sat up, meeting her eyes before slowly standing up, striding towards the door. “Who is it?” He called, his hands resting on the lock. 

“Madam Sharil,” a sweet voice answered. “I’ve come with clothes for your sister.” She explained. “The ones she’s wearing seem quite warn, so I wanted to offer something a bit better.” 

Gendry glanced over his shoulder, looking at Arya for permission. When she nodded her head, he cracked the door open. “Thank you,” he said stiffly, awkwardly taking the clothes from the woman’s hands and shutting the door. He padded over to her, dropping the clothes onto the stool a few feet away, keeping his eyes on the floor as he did. 

When Arya had finished bathing, she stood up in the tub, her back to Gendry. The splash of water roused him from his sleep and he looked towards the noise. Arya was drying herself off with a towel, concentrated on her front. 

Gendry’s eyes grazed over her small body. Lean muscle moved under the skin of her shoulders and back. Her waist cinched in the middle but her hips flared out. She had a tight little ass, followed by toned, lean legs. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, though he knew he should, before the thoughts clouding his mind effected his already stiffening cock.   
“Bloody fucking hell,” Arya growled, lifting the fabric the Innkeeper had gifted her. From what he could see, it was a fitted, tan tunic with a brown leather brocade overbust bodice that tied up in the front. It was beautiful, but nothing she’d be caught dead in. 

She tossed the fabric to the ground, wrapping the towel over her body, shielding it from the chilled air. Her hair dripped over her shoulder, water sliding down her arms and shoulder blades. Arya took a glance towards Gendry. His eyes were shut in slumber, though his breathing was slightly off. Not the calm, languid breath that came with restful sleep. 

Tip toeing around him, she grabbed his dirty tunic, slipping it over her shoulders and dropping the towel. The cloth came to her mid-thigh and was baggy enough that she didn’t need to wrap herself to keep concealed. After she shrugged on her smallclothes over her hips, she crawled into bed next to him, falling asleep quickly. 

 

O O O 

 

It was still dark when Arya jolted awake, pains in her lower stomach and back forcing her from sleep. Her body had broken out in a cold sweat and her small teats ached at the slightest touch. She rolled over but she already knew Gendry would be asleep. Instead of waking him with her embarrassing problem, she curled herself into a ball and bit into the pillow, keeping herself from sobbing or crying out. 

Noticing the slight commotion, Grey Wind lifted his head, watching Arya. His wounded ear flicked in wonder before raising to his feet, padding over to the young woman. Grey Wind rested his head on the bed, nudging his nose against her arm. Arya reached out, digging her fingers into his fur, stroking it. He made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat. 

Without warning, Grey Wind hopped up onto the bed, snuggling in next to her. Arya wrapped her arm around the dog’s large neck, pressing her face into his warm fur. 

Gendry woke in the morning, noticing Arya wearing his tunic and Grey Wind pressed against her on the bed. He would’ve chided her but he saw the exhaustion etched on her face as she slept. He was too afraid to ask but he wasn’t bullheaded enough to not notice that something was wrong.

 

O O O 

 

The next few days were torture. Arya had taken the tunic and bodice, but she kept the fabric so high up on her chest and loosely tied that it didn’t compliment her body whatsoever. She felt more comfortable that way. More mobile. Plus, the pressure of the tight leather on her back and teats felt like hell. 

As the fourth day of her Moon Blood came to a near end, Gendry decided to ask what was wrong, noticing the pain clear on her face as they were eating around the fire. Now, they were laying for bed, finding some moss to rest their heads, on when he asked about her bitter mood.

Arya didn’t turn around, knowing his eyes were burning into the back of her head. “Nothing is the matter, Waters.” She growled in warning. Sour from the pain. Pissed at the awkward conversation. 

He lifted his head, pulling his arm around her waist to press her back against his stomach. “You’re an awful liar. I saw through you since day one, Arry.” He responded, murmuring in her ear. Gendry hated seeing her in pain and even more than that, he hated that Arya felt like she couldn’t speak to him about what was bothering her.

There was a long silence. He would’ve thought that she had fallen asleep, had it not been for the racing of her heart against his hand. 

“Seven hells, Arya,” he muttered impatiently. 

“Alright,” she hissed, flushed. Arya bit the inside of her cheek, unsure on how to eloquently word her situation. “M-my Moon Blood. It hurts.” To emphasize, a wave of pain throbbed through her stomach. She bit down on the sleeve of her tunic to keep from groaning at the sharp torment. 

“Oh,” Gendry answered lamely. “Is. . . this your first?” She nodded in response. Slowly, he began rubbing circles on her toned stomach, untying the bodice from her waist and pulling it out from under her. He then slipped his hand under the fabric of Arya’s tunic. His hand was rough with callouses but it was soothing. 

A few times his hand brushed a little lower, sending shivers down her spine. She didn’t understand the feeling. Heat pooled between her legs. Her hair stood on end. Arya wished Gendry would bring his hand just a little further south. Stay there just a little longer. 

“You know,” he began softly, “I heard women in Flea Bottom say that the pain nearly goes away after they peak.” Gendry tried to keep his voice steady and to keep his hand from twitching lower on her body. 

“Peak?” Arya rebutted doubtfully. “How would I even know if I did? Or how to do that?” She was skeptical, though interested. Whatever to ease the pain. 

A chuckle rumbled against her back. She realized Gendry was laughing at her. “You’ll know, m’Lady.” 

If she weren’t so desperate to chase away the pain, Arya would’ve punched him for the title. “But. . . how?” Her voice grew smaller. “Can you show me? Just this once?” 

Gendry paused, his hand stilling on her stomach. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.” He murmured. A single finger trailed down her skin, leaving a path of gooseflesh in its wake. When she nodded, he pulled gently at the ties of her britches. “At any time, if you want me to stop, tell me.” He spoke softly into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin. 

Arya didn’t respond. She didn’t want him to stop. She couldn’t tell him to. Not now. Her body stiffened when she felt his fingers dip lower, brushing just above where the dark hair gathered between her legs. Her heart pounded in her chest. 

Taking the silence as a good sign, Gendry slipped a single finger between her folds. Slowly, he began rubbing circles against a sensitive bud between her legs. Arya bit down on her lip, whimpering. He suddenly pulled away from her aching core, gripping her calf and throwing her right leg over both of his own. Gendry’s hand then quickly disappeared back under her britches. 

The new position made Arya tremble. Two of his fingers spread apart her folds, rubbing against the bundle of nerves with quick strokes. Without even realizing it, she began rocking her hips against his hand. In response, she felt his arm tighten around her and his hips press into her back. Something hard was trapped between them. It took Arya a moment to realize it was his cock. 

Without warning, Gendry slipped a digit inside her, stroking against her tight walls. Arya moaned at the pleasurable sensations, gripping onto his forearm tightly. After a moment, another finger followed, his thumb rubbing circles as he fucked her slowly with his hand. 

“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear, pressing his lips to her heated skin. “Don’t draw attention. We have to stay quiet.” 

Arya nodded her head, biting down on her lip to control herself. She knew that if she would open her mouth, she’d only get louder. 

Gendry picked up the pace, adding a third finger easily into her soaking cunt. He felt her walls clench around him, giving the sign that she was close. Arya could feel it, too. A pleasurable sensation was building low in her stomach and she began chasing after it, bucking her hips into his hand fervently. 

A loud moan echoed into the forest. Arya was too lost in the moment to even realize how loud she had gotten. To keep her from waking the dead, Gendry used his free hand to gently pull her chin towards him. His mouth slanted over Arya’s, swallowing her moans and cries. He nipped at her lip, gaining entrance almost instantly. His tongue dueled with hers. 

The kiss seemed to be her undoing. Her body rocked as she experienced her first orgasm. As she came down from her high, her body trembling from the aftershock, Gendry trailed his lips to her neck, biting the moist flesh and soothing it instantly with his tongue. He slipped his fingers out of her soaking cunt, squeezing the sharp indent of her hip gently.

Gendry kissed her temple before getting up, heading towards a stream not too far from where they set up camp. 

While Arya lay alone, calming her ragged breaths, she noticed the pain in her stomach was nearly nonexistent. His suggestion had worked and, despite the fact that she was feeling extremely sated, all Arya wanted was for Gendry to come back. To put his mouth over hers again. Her lips tingled from the memory of where his had been just moments ago. 

\-------------------------------

Three weeks of travel had gone by and Gendry, nor Arya, hadn’t spoken of that night. There were times, however, late at night when they had splurged for a room at an Inn, or fell asleep near each other in the woods, where they’d study each other without the other’s notice. 

Arya would watch him wield his sword, practicing side-face, using a tree as his target. She noticed the way the muscle under his arms would flare when he’d strike particularly hard against the bark. Or how his footing was becoming smoother. The way he’d maneuver the sword, or would saunter towards a target, oozing confidence, made gooseflesh breakout onto her skin. The same warmth she felt when Gendry had her under his hand flushed her body again. Arya craved him, though she didn’t quite understand it. 

Gendry had been watching her, as well. When she’d correct his technique, taking his sword from him, wielding it as if it wasn’t nearly as long as she was tall, he’d watch her hips move under her loosely fitted clothing. He’d remember the way those hips had moved against his so innocently. There were numerous occasions that he had to take himself in hand late at night, recalling her taught skin, her moans and whimpers, the way she had come undone under his hands. 

It was the first time he had ever seen Arya of House Stark vulnerable. He wasn’t exactly sure if it was he himself that made her weak under his touch, or if it was purely physical. Either way, he wanted to see her that way again. 

As they approached a city, the familiar scent of salt wafted over Gendry. The ocean. Large vessels were docked at the ports, trading cargo and working out business offers.   
He was about to speak to Arya when he noticed she was no longer at his side. If he wasn’t so tall, he would’ve lost her in the crowd. “What are you doing?” He asked once he had caught up with her. 

“Shut up,” she snapped, her stormy eyes furrowing in concentration. Her eyes scanned the ships, taking note their symbols and names. When her eyes caught one she seemed to recognize, Arya took off towards it, slipping through the dense crowd easily. 

A man held out his hand to stop her from boarding the particular ship. He had dark, thick, curly hair. His skin was darkened by the sun. He reminded Arya of Syrio. “What is it that you want, girl?” The captain asked, his voice thick with the Braavosi accent. He gazed over her curiously, arching an eyebrow at the direwolf standing tall, next to her. 

Arya rummaged for the coin that Jaqen had gifted her moons ago. She lifted it up to him, saying “Valar Morghulis,” as she passed the payment to him. The man plucked it from her small hand, studying it. 

He then bowed to her, swooping his arm to invite on. “Valar dohaeris,” he responded. Arya moved past, though halted when the man stopped Gendry in his tracks. “The coin permits on person only.” He warned. 

Grinding her teeth in frustration, Arya held out her hand. “Then I’ll take my payment back.”

The captain glanced between the two, holding the coin tightly in his hand. “Very well,” he concluded. “Welcome aboard.”


	4. "Who Are You?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya enters the House of Black and White. Without Gendry in sight.

The boat cut through the dark waters easily, sailing towards the Free Cities. Arya stood at the helm of the ship, staring up in awe at the stone soldier that gated the entrance. Gendry was off with the other men, practicing the rope skills he had acquired on the voyage. Grey Wind was stretched out somewhere, soaking up the warm sun.

Ternesio came up behind Arya, gazing up at the structure before him, smirking at the girl’s reaction. “Low times, whenever Braavos stood in danger, the Titian would stab with fire in his eyes, wade into the sea and smash the enemies.”

Arya looked up at the man, a look of amused doubt on her face. “He’s just a statue,” she replied. Suddenly, without any indication, a deep, brassy instrument sounded from where the Titian stood. Arya took a step back, shocked, a hand clutching the hilt of Needle out of habit. 

The captain chuckled at her reaction, looking from her to Titian. “Don’t be afraid,” he mused. “He’s announcing our arrival.” 

All humor left the girl’s face. “I’m not afraid.” She replied. 

 

O O O 

 

Ternesio rowed towards the city. Gendry and Arya observed the culture as they passed, Grey Wind sitting between them. A busy marketplace lined the ocean walls; everyone hurried with sales and offers. A hint of a smile spread across Arya’s face. 

They passed the city life, nearing a solitary, prodigious structure. Ternesio looked over his shoulder, studying the temple that the two looked weary about. “The House of Black and White,” he explained. “This is where you’ll find the man you seek.” The boat hit the stone wall gently, accenting their arrival. “Here, I leave you.” 

Gendry climbed out first, Arya following. The wolf leaped out of the boat easily, sniffing and wandering about the grounds. The structure had no windows. No way to see inside. The only indication that they could even enter were the large doors. One black. One white. Arya turned to the captain. “Thank you for bringing us.” 

There was a slight shake of his head, dismissing the gratitude. “Any man of Braavos would have done the same.” Ternesio reasoned. He shoved the boat from the wall, saluting a farewell. “Valar Morghulis.”

Arya nodded her head, “Valar dohaeris.” She murmured in reply. 

As the man rowed away, Gendry glanced at Arya, gesturing for her to move forward. Hesitantly, she took the lead, climbing the stairs to the threshold. Slowly, she lifted her hand, knocking lamely on the door. Nothing. 

She tried a second time, biting down on her lip nervously as she did. Silence followed. Arya met Gendry’s eyes. He shrugged, not knowing what do to. Quickly, she stole a glance over her shoulder but Ternesio was but a spec in the water, now. She turned back around, her knuckles lifted to knock on the door a third time, when the doors opened. A dark skinned man appeared, wearing a tan, dirty, hooded cloak. 

“Hello,” Arya greeted. The man simply stared at her. “Valar Morghulis,” she added, assuming the words were the key to entry. Still, there was no response from the man. Thinking quickly, Arya grabbed for the coin tucked in her belt, showing it to him. “Jaqen H’ghar gave me this.” 

The man glanced down at the coin, uninterested. “No one here by that name.” 

He stepped back, about to close the door when Arya pleaded, “Please! We’ve crossed the Narrow Sea. We have nowhere else to go.” 

“You have everywhere else to go,” he retorted.

“But wait - ” The door slammed in her face. Arya’s shoulders fell in defeat. “Now what?” She growled to herself, turning around and climbing down the stairs angrily. Gendry followed, though he was sure to keep a bit of distance from her, unsure of how her mood would play out. 

Suddenly, Arya sat down on the steps, leaning against a large pillar. After a moment, Gendry sat down next to her. 

Hours went by. Dusk had settled over Braavos and Gendry had begun snoring in his slumber a near half hour ago. Arya curled up against the large wolf, looking over the black water. “Cersei. Walder Frey. The Mountain. Meryn Trant.” She chanted over and over; her ritual before sleep. However, sleep never came. She was still murmuring death to those names as morning came, twirling the coin in her fingers as she did. 

Getting to her feet, Arya walked angrily towards the edge of the walkway, giving one last look at the coin before tossing it unceremoniously into the water. “Wake up you bull,” she muttered to Gendry, kicking his foot to wake him. 

He woke up lazily, squinting at the sunlight. 

“We’re going.” She turned on her heels, listening to his footfalls echo clumsily behind her as he tried to catch up, still groggy from sleep. Grey Wind padded silently next to her.

 

O O O

 

“What do you suppose we do?” Gendry asked, walking alongside her down an alleyway. 

Arya bit the inside of her cheek while her eyes explored the open doors to taverns and whorehouses. “I don’t know.” She muttered, annoyed. 

Gendry caught site of what could only be forge smoke a few side streets down. “Stay here, I’ll be back.” He spoke gently, giving her a look of warning before disappearing down the street. 

Grey Wind, distracted by sights and sounds, disappeared in the crowd. Arya thought about calling after him, but then she remembered Nymeria and how she’d leave and always find her way back. 

 

Arya was swinging Needle about when three men, chuckling to themselves like all dumb men did, passed her as they exited a tavern. One took a second glance at Arya, stopping his friends and calling after her softly. “You.” When Arya ignored the voice, he spoke louder. “You.” Arya stopped, spinning on her heels to face them. “What’ve you got there?” He indicated the sword in her hand. When she didn’t answer, the others chuckled. He advanced on her. “I said -”

“Turn around and go.” Arya muttered. The men glanced slyly at each other before turning to her, fire burning in their eyes. In response, Arya raised Needle at the man who had spoken. “Turn around and go.”

“That’s a nice little sword,” he mused, ignoring her prior warnings. “Worth a hundred pieces; a sword like that.” All three men pulled out small weapons of their own, intent on claiming Needle as their own. 

Arya shook her head slowly. “Nothing’s worth anything to dead men.” 

As the men were about to advance on her, they stopped in their tracks, looking over her head with fear in their eyes. “Come on,” “Go, go!” They all shouted, running away in cowardice. 

Looking over her shoulder to see the commotion, Arya made eye contact with the man who had answered the door at the House of Black and White, yesterday. He stood there for a moment before turning around and walking away. 

Arya felt compelled to follow. It wasn’t until they were back at the temple when she shouted out. “Who are you?” Stopping in her tracks. He turned around at that. “Why were they scared of you?” A hint of envy laced her question. 

He flicked the coin she had previously thrown in the ocean at her, responding with, “You lost this.” Arya looked down at the coin. Every scratch was in place. Every dent. Every nick. When she looked up again, he man raised a hand to his face, pulling what looked like a thin cloth from his face. Jaqen H’ghar’s appear in place of the dark skinned man’s. A mask.  
Arya was stunned. And if we’re being honest, a bit pissed. “You said there was no Jaqen H’ghar here.” She accused.

“There isn’t.” He replied stiffly. “A man is not Jaqen H’ghar.” He turned towards the door. 

“Well who are you, then?” She called after him. 

He glanced over his shoulder. “No one. And that is where they come.” He opens the door, turning to silently invite Arya inside. 

Reluctantly, she entered. The door echoed through the hallways as it slammed shut behind her. 

 

O O O 

 

Two weeks. Two weeks had gone by and Arya had done nothing but sweep the floors and scrub the walls. She had only seen Jaqen twice. People came and went. They drank the water, praying to the Many-Faced God. They died at the fountain. 

She tried asking a severe looking, young woman what was going on – where they took the bodies - but she’d never pay Arya any attention. 

It was night when the same woman entered her chambers, though it could be better described as a broom closet with a hole for her to sleep in at night. Arya had been twirling the iron coin in her hand, studying the foreign language carved into it.

The woman stared, deadpan, straight ahead. She held a thin, wooden pole in her right hand. Arya sat up, bent over at the waist as to not hit her head on the ceiling of her stone nook, watching the woman. 

She began to walk back and forth, never looking at the Stark girl. After a few paces, Arya broke the silence. “What do you want?”

Without breaking pace or acknowledging Arya, she answered. “Who are you?”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You, who walk in here with a coin you never earned; whose value you do not respect.” She paused, turning on her heels towards the grey-eyed girl, stalking towards her. Looking down on her. Arya gritted her teeth. Everyone always looked down on her. “Who are you?” The woman repeated.

A trick, Arya realized. She sat up straight at that. “No one.” She replied. Suddenly, the woman swung the pole across her arm, hard. “Owe!” She said more out of surprise than hurt, clutching her forearm, as if she didn’t believe that had just happened. “Cunt!” Arya spat, standing up. 

“A lie. A sad little lie. Who are you?” The woman’s voice was eerily monotone. 

“I told you! I’m n -” Another thwack against her left arm, this time. Arya’s mouth opened in anger. “Do that again and I -” A pole struck behind her knee, forcing Arya onto her knees. She grabbed for the wall, twisting to look up at the woman. 

“Who are you?” She demanded.

“You’re about to find out,” Arya warned. She turned back towards her bed, grabbing the hilt of Needle. Before she could pull it out and stab the bitch with it, a searing hot pain exploded across her cheek, sharp nails slicing through reddened flesh. 

The force of the slap sent Arya sprawling on the ground, Needle left on the bed. Another blow, this time with the wooden weapon, connected to her ribs. Arya gasped in pain, clutching her stomach. 

Trying to gain power over the cunt, Arya sat up quickly, just as her attacker was swinging at her. The tip of the weapon nicked her throat, cutting her flesh shallowly. A hiss escaped through her lips. She threw a right hook, connecting her fist with the blonde’s jaw. There was a satisfying yalp of pain that came after. 

With her attacker distracted and in pain, Arya swiped Needle from the confines of her blanket and pointed it at the woman. “Touch me again,” she growled, “and the last thing you’ll feel is my steel in your stomach.”

Arya escaped through the maze of corridors to the only exit she knew. 

When the fresh air hit her face, Arya inhaled deeply. It was dark, though the glow of city life brightened the buildings in the distance. She could feel the light sting of her wounds. Bruises formed instantly under the pressure and blood trickled down her cheek and neck.

The Stark girl took one glance back at the House of Black and White before setting out towards the city.

 

O O O 

 

As Arya entered the city, she clutched onto the hilt of Needle, preparing to strike out at any attackers that may be lurking in the shadows. 

The sound of gravel crunching under feet resonated behind her. Gooseflesh covered her entire body. Rather than having the figure behind Arya reach her, she spun on her heels, jabbing her weapon out towards thin air. “Seven Hells,” she breathed, looking down at Grey Wind. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.” Arya chided him, lowering the sword.  
The direwolf only panted, wagging his tail slowly. His ears perked, then he passed her, heading off deeper into the alley. Not wanting to be alone, Arya followed. 

 

The first thing she heard was the hard clanking of metal on metal. Then a satisfying sizzle. Smoke drifted from the chimney on the forge. The doors, however, we closed. Firelight leaked through the cracks in the doors and windows. Grey Wind clawed at the wood, trying to nudge open the door with his nose. 

Smirking, Arya pulled at the handle, opening it just enough to slip the large wolf and her body through. Gendry looked up from his fighting stance, nearly dropping the sword he’d been testing. “Arya.” He breathed, shocked. 

The metal crashed to the ground. It only took four long strides to the door for his arms to wrap around her, lifting her from her feet. When he pulled away, setting her back down, his face was angry. “Where the fuck were you?” He demanded, examining her.

His rough hand traced the fresh cut on her cheek, slowly moving down to tilt her chin to the side, finding the other cut on her neck. “Who did this?” He growled. 

Arya pushed away his hand, dismissing his worry. “It was nothing.” She muttered, clenching her teeth. 

Gendry arched an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. “Why are you hurt, then?” 

“I lied,” she replied, each bruise representing one lie she had spoken. 

He crossed his arms, staring down at her. “You lied, so someone did this to you?”

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” she concluded, shoving past him to a bucket of water sitting atop a bench pressed against the far wall. She dipped the wrist of her tunic into the water, dabbing the wetted fabric against her cheek. 

Gendry sighed, irritated, then moved across the room to a cot that lay in a corner, concealed by shadows. There was a tearing sound, then he appeared with a piece of cloth bunched in his hand. “Sit.” He demanded. When Arya didn’t budge, he took an intimidating step forward. “Sit. Before I make you.”

Arya glared at him, sitting down with a huff. Gendry took the spot next to her, moving the bucket between them. After wetting the cloth, he held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head to the side. He gently dabbed at the wound, cleaning the drying blood from her neck. 

It was silent as he worked, tugging the neck of her tunic to the side to better reach a bead of blood that had run down over her collarbone. The pulse point, which lay under the cut, thudded quickly. Gendry glanced over Arya’s face. Her cheeks were flushed. She stared intently into the fire. The light poured over her face, igniting the always-present fire in her grey eyes. 

Without thinking, Gendry leaned over her, kissing the wound on her neck softly. He felt Arya tense under him, her body pulling away from him before thinking better of it and melting towards his touch. His lips trailed lower, a hand tugging at the strings of her bodice. It fell to the floor with a satisfying thud. The too-large tunic flared around her small body giving him the opportunity to pull the collar over her shoulder. Gendry’s mouth trailed across the purple skin, his movements rushed and urgent. 

With the pressure, Arya shivered, a soft noise mixed with pain and pleasure escaping her lips. Her hand found his shoulder, the other snaking in his hair, pulling him closer to her. Not thinking, Gendry reached forward, trying to pull Arya against his body. What he forgot about was the bucket of water sitting between them. 

It tipped over, soaking Arya’s tunic and dampening his britches. She gasped against the cold, gooseflesh erupting on her skin. Gendry pulled away, his mouth slacked open in surprise, words of apology forming on his lips as he looked over her wet form. 

The fabric clung to her skin, exposing the shape of her teats that she tried so hard to hide, her lean stomach, and the way her waist dipped, then flared out to feminine hips. The sight laid out in front of Gendry drained all his blood to his hardening cock.

Gendry was sure his clumsy movements ruined any chance he had at ever kissing the wolf-girl trembling in front of him, again.

That was until Arya stood up, digging both of her hands tightly into his hair as she snuck between his legs, her mouth slanting roughly over his. 

Gendry responded immediately, fighting for dominance. His arm wrapped around her small waist, pulling her flush against his bare chest, the other hand moving up her shoulder blades, cupping the back of her neck.

He could feel her chest rise and fall quickly against his. Arya’s nipples were taught against his skin - from the cold, from him, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to feel her bare flesh against his. 

His hands dragged slowly down her body as he bit her lower lip, hard, causing Arya to gasp. Taking the opportunity, he snuck his tongue in her mouth, winning the war instantly.  
Gendry’s hands stopped over her ass, gripping it tightly. Arya moaned into his mouth, tugging at his hair in response. He suddenly gripped under her legs, hoisting her up onto his lap, her legs straddling his waist. His hands went to her hips, gripping them roughly. 

That only seemed to spur her on. Experimentally, Arya rocked her hips against his, feeling a bulge pressing against her heated core. Gendry groaned in agony, tearing his mouth from hers and latching it to her collarbone, nipping at the flesh, then soothing it over with his tongue.

As Gendry’s hands slowly grazed up her toned stomach, pulling up the loose fabric along with it, Arya was thrown back into reality. The feel of his hands on her. His arousal pressing against her core. She was terrified. Terrified to feel. To lose the one thing she felt she had control over. But did she really? If Arya was honest with herself, she had absolutely no control over herself when it came to Gendry. 

It took all the strength in her lethal hands to pull away from his embrace. She felt cold without his body against hers. When Gendry’s eyes met hers, she could feel the confusion and hurt as if it were her own – and maybe it was. “I… I can’t do this.” She muttered, slipping off his lap. 

Her eyes pierced the fire. Gendry was sure the fire grew hotter because of it. He felt so idiotic; of course Arya, a Stark – a lady of Winterfell – wouldn’t want a bastard like him. She deserved better than a smith.

He stood, suddenly, turning to the sword that had dropped to the ground. “Of course.” He whispered roughly, desire lacing his speech. He studied the metal in his hands intently. “There’s a cot up the ladder,” Gendry nodded towards a small loft above the nook where his own bed lay. “It can be yours.” 

Arya turned, examining his well-toned back. Heat coursed through her veins. She watched as his fingers ran over the hilt of the sword he had been working on, going over the details. She shivered as she remembered how those fingers had felt over her heated skin. How they had felt caressing her maidenhood so long ago. 

She wanted to apologize for pulling away. She wanted to feel his mouth against hers. His rough hands on her skin. She needed release. She needed him.  
But she’d never admit to it.

Arya would die before she admitted she ever needed anyone. 

That, she could promise.


	5. Broken Facade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya discovers a school to master the dance of fighting. Gendry vocalizes his feelings for her.

Arya weaved through the crowed as if she were invisible. Her pockets had grown heavy with coins she had picked from inattentive pedestrians, forcing her britches to ride lower on her hips. She clung to the fabric, silencing the jingle of the money as it bounced against her leg. 

“Side-face, you idiot! I said side-face!” A male voice scolded. The familiar sound of the clash of wood echoed down the thin alleyway. 

A boyish grunt followed. “I was side-face. You just moved!” 

Intrigued and curious, Arya followed the voices. Clay walls, carved with intricate window panels, lined an interior courtyard. Wooden practice swords were scattered about on the ground, or laying against the wall. 

A man near Syrio’s age wield a practice sword with expert precision. Standing in front of him was a young man near Jon’s age. Irritation was etched on his face. His hand awkwardly gripped the wooden weapon. He was unpracticed and uncomfortable in the art of swordplay. 

Arya didn’t need to see him swing to spot an unworthy opponent. 

Needle burned at her hip, begging to play the game. However, she kept to the shadows, unsure of their game. 

A bell rang loudly above her. 

The man glanced up to where the tolling sounded from. He was clearly displeased. “I hope you can survive today’s challenge.” He muttered, shaking his head.

Suddenly, the courtyard filled with boys of all ages. Some scrawny, no older than twelve. Others had lean, defined muscles and had to be older than Arya herself. They all grabbed for practice swords. Some had the misfortune of snatching one that didn’t fit their skill level, nor size. 

It was beautiful chaos. Men and boys alike picked opponents; whoever they made eye contact with, first. There were shouts of frustration. Hoots of victory. They worked to defeat one another. They worked to make their challengers improve their fights. 

A school, Arya realized. 

Just like the one Syrio had spoken of, so long ago. 

“You, there!” A boy’s voice called. Arya spun on her heels. The boy who hadn’t been side-face was glaring directly at her. “What do you think you’re doing here, girl?”

If only he hadn’t been daft enough to identify her by her gender. 

Arya pulled Needle swiftly from her belt loop, swinging it forward. The edge near centimeters from his throat. “If you were standing side-face, you would’ve saved your neck.” She spat. 

He swung the wooden sword up, blocking Needle so it swung away from his flesh. “And what do you know about fighting?” He demanded. But Arya knew what he meant; what would a girl know about fighting?

Arya danced with grace and quickness around him. “Certainly more than you.” She responded snidely, Needle threatening to rip the neck of his tunic. 

It wasn’t until this moment that they both had realized it was deadly silent. All eyes were trained on the pair. 

A man, who Arya later found out was the lead instructor of the institute, walked up to them. His eyes grazed over Needle. Arya could tell by the curious look that spread across his face, that he recognized the castle forged steel. 

However, all he said was, “How do you know how to fight like the Braavosi?” 

“I was taught by the best,” Arya stated casually, lowering Needle slowly. “Syrio Forel.” 

A gasp waved through the crowd. “Well,” the man began, a small smile breaking through his rough façade, “Maybe you could teach these boys a thing or two, then.”

 

It wasn’t until after sundown that Arya had returned to the forge. Her thick tunic and britches were replaced with a thinner fabric, which hugged her thin frame. She wore a black bustier underneath. Tight, dark brown pants replaced the worn britches she had come with. Black leather boots came up to her mid-thighs, protecting from the thinner material of her pants. A swordsman’s belt hung from her hips, holding Needle through a small loop. 

The teacher, who later identified himself as Roggo, had given her proper clothing to train in. After she was dressed to fight, Arya had spent the rest of her hours at the school fighting boys – and men – of varying sword skills.

A few times she had lost, which resulted in the bruises she now felt pressing on her ribs and left hip bone. Her hair was eventually tied back into a French braid to keep stray hairs from blocking her vision as she fought. 

Arya felt powerful. She radiated with strength and passion. Roggo had asked her to come back for as long as she stayed in Braavos. He wanted to teach her. He wanted her to teach. For the first time in a long time, Arya felt like she belonged. 

 

“What are you wearing?” Gendry gawked, staring at her as she entered the forge. 

Arya glanced down at her new clothes. She shrugged in response, unclasping the belt from around her waist and setting it on the bench. 

“How did you get those?” He pressed, following her. 

She spun around, taken aback at his lack of clothing. Again, he wore naught but his britches and boots. His hands were nearly black from working all day and his torso was dirty as well, a thin layer of sweat coating his neck and shoulders. 

Arya filled Gendry in on her day, tossing him a small bag filled with the coins she had pocketed before her discovery of the swordsman school. 

Gendry caught the bag, tugging at the strings to peer in to see the contents. 

“So you’re an assassin, now?” He asked, arching an eye brow at her. 

Arya gave him a pointed look. “No, you bull.” She shoved past him, closing the front doors to keep out unwanted visitors. “I’m just training. And they’re paying me to teach the younger students.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t sit around and watch you make swords all day.” 

Gendry sighed, dipping his hands into a bucket of water, trying to clean off the grime that seemed to permanently stain his skin black. He wanted Arya to stay close. Stay safe. But he knew she wouldn’t be Arya if she did. 

“So what am I supposed to do?” He asked, finally, wiping his hands on his britches. 

Arya arched an eye brow at him, threading her fingers through the thick fur on Grey Wind’s neck. “What do you mean?”

“You could get hurt. Or be discovered.” He argued.

A laugh escaped through her lips. “No one in Braavos cares about the politics of Westeros unless it effects them, Gendry.” She chided. “And no one could ever hurt me.” Arya lifted her chin proudly. Or was it cockily? 

No, Gendry thought, but you can hurt me. “Be careful,” was all he said.

“Aren’t I always?” She asked as she passed him, snatching an apple from a small basket of food Gendry had bought, today. 

“No,” Gendry responded easily, a smirk spreading across his face.

He suddenly ducked down, barely escaping the fruit that flew at his head. “Bastard,” Arya muttered, climbing the latter to her bed. 

“Wait,” Gendry called, watching her freeze on the fourth rung. “My employer took away the bed; replaced it with supplies for smithing. We, uh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “Have to share.”

As Arya climbed down, she leaned against the latter, watching him carefully. 

“He can’t know you’re living here,” Gendry explained, his front facing the fire. “Sharing wasn’t a part of the job offer. If he knew I was opening this place up for others, I’d be thrown out, without a job.”

“Why don’t you just say you have a sister?” She asked. 

A cruel laugh rumbled in his chest. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes grazing up her body slowly. Arya had to suppress a shudder. Gendry might as well have been touching her with his bare hands. “You think I could convince someone that you’re my sister?” He asked softly. A pained sort of happiness shone from his eyes. 

He took a step towards her. 

“You think I can act like I don’t want you? Like you don’t affect every moment of my life?” He was keeping his distance. For if he got close to her, Gendry knew he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. From kissing those plump, pink lips of hers. From running his hands over her lean curves. 

Arya swallowed thickly. Her heart thudded in her chest. Before now, she could pretend that Gendry found no interest in her. She could tell herself that they didn’t want each other. She could ignore the urge to run her hands over his hard muscles. She could silence the voices that screamed at her to press her body against his. To feel something. But his admittance had set a fire in her that she didn’t know existed. 

This was a dangerous game they were playing.


	6. My Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya reacts to Gendry vocalizing his feelings for her.

“You bull,” Arya breathed, trying to steady her quickening breaths. “I’m not a girl to be owned by a man simply because he has a cock and I don’t.” She warned, her jaw wound with tension. 

“You’re right,” Gendry stated, arching an eye brow at her. He took slow steps towards her as he spoke. “You’re not a girl at all. You’re warrior. A survivor. A knight.” Gendry looked down on her, desire burning in his blue eyes. “You’re fierce. And fair. You’re relentless and bold. You’re a wolf, born and bred.” 

Arya could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He was close enough to touch. If she outstretched her hand, she could brush the hair out of his eyes. “What I am has nothing to do with your claimed affections for me.” 

He chuckled. “You also don’t know when to shut your mouth.” Gendry leaned down at that, a hand stealing in her hair, tugging on the loose braid to tilt her head up so he could have better access to her lips. His other hand wrapped around her small waist, pulling her flush against his skin. 

“And you don’t know how to mind your manners,” Arya gasped when she finally pulled away, her hands pushing against his chest.

Gendry’s teeth found the flesh behind her ear, nipping at the heated skin there. “Then I suppose we have more in common than I had originally thought,” he replied huskily, his hands trailing down her body. 

Suddenly, he gripped the back of her thighs, hoisting her body up easily to wrap her legs around his waist. Gendry pressed her against the wall of the forge, his mouth greedily claiming hers. 

Arya was torn. Her body – and mind – screamed at her to touch him. To enjoy the wonderful feeling of his body hard against hers. How well they fit together. She wanted him to devour her. To satisfy the hunger that had laid dormant in her for so long. Yet, there was a tiny voice warning her away. It reminded her of their standing. Of her being a lady. Of him being a bastard with a bounty on his head. 

But why the fuck did that matter? They were in Braavos. Arya was no longer Arya of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell. If all were true, Arya had lost her young identity long ago. Of course she would always be a Stark. Her heart would forever reside in Winterfell and her spirit would be as strong, fearless, and hungry as the wolf that lay as her sigil. But she had renounced her standing as being a Lady.

Despite her upbringing, it was never in her destiny to become a lady. Rules and regulations couldn’t stop her free heart. 

A heart that thudded painfully in her chest for Gendry. 

“Oh fuck it,” she muttered against his lips. Her thighs tightened around his waist, pulling his body closer. A hand clawed down his back, leaving a trail of parallel red lines down his skin. The other ran over the smooth expanse of his abdomen. Arya felt him shudder under her touch. She got pleasure from knowing she could elicit such a response from him.

“I’d rather fuck you,” Gendry growled. Unexpectedly he pulled her away from the wall, carrying her to a table a few feet away, setting her heavily down on top of it. His hands searched for the hem of her thin tunic, peeling it off of her. 

Gendry admired the young woman blushing in front of him. Her hair had fallen out of her braid, cascading over her shoulders in black waves. Arya’s small teats were pushed up by the black bodice that covered her from him. 

He leaned over her, pressing her down onto her back. She felt his hard cock against her clothed core. Mimicking her movements from the other night, she rocked her hips against his out of curiosity. 

Gendry’s hands came down on her hips, clutching them tightly as he moved against her, groaning in agony into her neck. His teeth claimed the flesh at her neck and collar bone, paying close attention to the spots that drew small moans from her swollen lips. 

Arya couldn’t take so many sensations at once. Gendry’s mouth on her skin. His hips rocking against her, pushing his cock teasingly against her core. His hands gripping her hips. She was going to explode if they weren’t naked. Now. 

As if reading her mind, Gendry’s hands slipped behind her. Arya arched her back to welcome the helping hands. The fabric was soon discarded onto the floor. Without missing a beat, his mouth latched onto her nipple, nipping and sucking at the flesh. 

Arya writhed under him, moaning loudly in response. If her head wasn’t so clouded, she could’ve sworn he was smiling against her skin. Her nails raked through his hair, tugging on it none too gently. 

Gendry grunted in response, his hands slipping to untie her fighting pants, flinging them onto the floor with the rest of the discarded clothing. To his complete pleasure, he discovered she wasn’t wearing smallclothes underneath. 

His mouth found hers again, biting down on her lower lip. Arya gasped at the pain mixed with pleasure. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Gendry trailed his hand down her body until he reached the curly hair between her thighs. 

Without skipping a beat, he stroked a finger between her soaked folds, finding an overly sensitive bundle of nerves that elicited a loud moan from Arya’s throat. 

There was no problem slipping a finger inside, stroking the tight walls as his thumb massaged her clit. Arya bucked against his hand, savoring the sensations it brought her. The slow, vaguely familiar, enticing pressure was building low in her stomach. “Gendry,” she whined against his lips, her nails digging into the skin of his arm.

He chuckled huskily against Arya’s neck, adding another digit, his pace quickening. Gendry nipped at her pulse point, whispering “Come for me,” into her ear. 

Arya cried out, her body stiffening under him as her walls clenched around his fingers, which were slowly pumping inside her, drawing out her climax. Neither of them noticed that she drew blood where her nails bit into the skin of his shoulder. 

“I quite like your new clothes, by the way,” Gendry said after a long moment, leaning over her, his hands braced on either side of her head. 

Arya, still panting, rolled her eyes at him. “I had assumed you’d like them better on the floor,” she retorted, arching an eye brow at him. 

His eyes grazed slowly down her body, memorizing every blushed curve. The way her breasts dipped as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. How hard muscles moved under her pale skin. Gendry drew his eyes back up to hers, slowly. “That I do,” he murmured, desire laced in his voice. 

A shiver rolled down Arya’s spine. She sat up, slightly, resting on her forearms. Her lips brushed against his as she spoke. “I want you, Gendry Waters.” Her mouth trailed down his jaw and throat. His five o’clock shadow was rough against her swollen lips. 

Gendry growled, a hand coming down on her hip, clutching it tightly. His cock throbbed painfully at Arya’s words. He wanted nothing more than to burry himself deep inside her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he responded through clenched teeth, retraining the urge to tear off his britches and fuck her, hard. 

Arya laughed coyly at his words. “As if I’d let you,” she murmured. Her hand stroked down his overheated abdomen, untying his britches. She didn’t hesitate to take his hard cock in her small hand, stroking him slowly. Gendry groaned into her shoulder, biting at her skin, hard, marking her as his. 

Moving to wrap her legs around his waist, Arya arched up into him, sliding his throbbing member against her slick folds. Gendry sucked in a shallow breath, grabbing her wrist and pinning it above her head. He used his other hand to guide himself, fitting his sword snuggly into her sheath. 

He paused when he encountered her maidenhead, about to pull away when Arya’s legs tightened around him. The look in her eyes pleaded him to continue, so he did, thrusting quickly to pierce through her virginity. Arya called out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, throwing her head back with tightly shut eyes. Gendry buried his face in the crook of her neck, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. 

It only took a moment for the sting of pain to fade away, though Gendry had yet to move. Experimentally, Arya lifted her hips to his, whimpering at the sensations that were tenfold what she had felt minutes ago. Taking her movement as encouragement, he rocked his hips shallowly, but that wasn’t enough for her. 

Arya rolled her hips roughly against his, trying to chase after the build she so desperately wanted. In response, Gendry groaned as if he were in pain. He lifted up, slightly, taking her other hand and joining it with the other, pinning her thin wrists above her head in one of his large hands. He then bucked against her, hard, testing the waters. When she moaned in pleasure, Gendry picked up his pace, slamming his hips against hers. 

It was the first time Arya had ever felt bliss from not being in control. Her whole life she had struggled for power and authority, yet when Gendry forced her hands above her head and fucked her with complete abandon, she was weak at the knees. She liked being overpowered by him. 

She cried out when Gendry’s free hand reached down where they were connected, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves between her folds. “Ge-Gendry,” Arya whimpered, biting down on her lip so hard, she drew blood. He bent down, latching onto a pert nipple as he picked up his pace, feeling his seed threatening to spill inside her. But, Gendry was greedy. He want to feel Arya come undone around him. 

Something like a small yalp in pleasure escape Arya’s throat when he angled himself slightly different. “Right there,” she purred, her hands balling into fists above her head. Gendry focused his thrusts, hitting in just the right spot. “Gods yes,” Arya hissed. He leaned down to kiss her swollen lips, matching the pace of his thrusts with the movement of his hand against her throbbing clit. 

Arya felt like she was on fire. Her vision flared white-hot as she came, moaning Gendry’s name in blissful pleasure. Her soaked cunt clenched around his throbbing cock, sending him over the edge as well. Gendry buried his face in her neck as he spilled his seed inside her, slowing grinding his hips against her, drawing out the exhilarating feeling of his climax, and Arya’s. 

Gendry never wanted to move. If he could stay here, stay inside Arya, feel her heart beat pound against his chest, hear her ragged breaths against his ear for the rest of his life, Gendry could die a happy man. 

He released her hands from above her head and Arya sighed in content, tracing light circles over his strong back, staring up at the ceiling. She felt completely sated, though with his cock still inside her, the hunger would undoubtedly creep back. 

Minutes passed before Gendry slowly pulled out, retying his britches. He walked over to his cot, snatching up a piece of fabric off the cot. Arya was sitting up when he returned to her, a dazed, satisfied look upon her face. “Lift your arms,” he murmured. 

Arching an eye brow, she did as she was told. Gendry helped put his tunic on her small frame. It came down to her mid-thigh and seeing her in it, her frame silhouetted by the glow of the firelight, reawakened the hunger in him. He gave Arya a chaste kiss, his hands resting on either side of her legs, which dangled off the table. 

“My wolf,” he murmured into her hair.


	7. The Kingsguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cersei. Walder Frey. The Mountain. Meryn Trant.” 
> 
> Arya Stark's fate collides with an old foe. She is given the chance to assassinate Ser Meryn Trant when he visits Braavos on official business. Will she successfully avenge Syrio's death, or will she face the god of death herself trying?

Gendry rolled over, still hazy from sleep. His arm stretched out to wrap around his lover’s small frame but it grasped onto air, instead. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was alone. 

He sat up, climbing out of bed. His tunic was resting on the foot of the cot, balled up. Needle was gone, as were the clothes Arya had been wearing yesterday. Grey Wind wasn’t in sight. She must’ve gone back to that dancing school, he thought to himself. 

It was just past dawn, so Gendry slipped on his tunic, savoring Arya’s scent, which lingered on the fabric, before working the fire back to its savage flames. He picked the sword up which he had dropped last night, smiling faintly at the memories. If it weren’t for the tunic or the tools that had been knocked on the floor from their fucking on the table, Gendry would’ve thought it a dream. 

 

 

“Yes, very nice, Arya.” Roggo praised, his stance frozen in an attack position. Arya mimicked his footing, narrowing her eyes at her teacher. She had known him for nearly twenty-four hours, yet Arya was skeptical that this man gave out compliments so freely. 

Just as she was about to fall out of her stance, he swung out. Arya thought quickly, blocking the blow messily. The crash of practice swords vibrated through her arm, unsteady. Roggo’s lips curled into a smile as he took a step forward to take a blow to her neck. This time, Arya was prepared, not only blocking the attack but made for her own attack. 

She wasn’t strong enough to overpower him, but she was quick enough to slip through where he left open. “Good.” Roggo grunted as she stabbed at his side. “Never let your guard down. Words can stab deeper than a sword,” he said, standing up straight. His stance broke as he reached for his leather canteen, “Or distract an opponent long enough to get the job done.” 

“So that move really wasn’t good?” Arya challenged, arching an eye brow at him. 

Roggo chuckled, shaking his head as he took a swig of water. “Alas, it was good.” He admitted. “Though it wasn’t impressive enough to warrant an actual compliment.” 

Arya opened her mouth to reply when the bell rang from its small tower. “I will see you at noon,” Roggo amended, seeing the disappointment etched on her face. “You are a skilled young woman; these boys need more practice than you.” 

Though disappointed, Arya couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Noon,” she repeated, slipping through a side door as students rushed in from the main entrance.  
Grey Wind was resting just outside the door when Arya came through. “Come on, boy,” she murmured. 

With the money she had snatched yesterday, Arya bought bread, cheese, and apples for lunch, intending on surprising Gendry with her feast. 

As she headed back to the forge, a group of men in fine armor marched past her. Her eyes widened as she recognized the symbol hammered on the front of their chest plate. The Kingsguard. At the front of the small cluster of men was a stocky man with unkempt hair and a dirty brown beard. 

“Meryn Trant,” Arya breathed. The name tightened in her throat. It was the first time she had said it aloud without chanting it before she went to sleep. 

Forgetting her destination, Arya followed the men through the shadows, Grey Wind following suit. It wasn’t until they disappeared into the building that she realized they were in Gendry’s forge. 

Arya snuck around the back, climbing through the window silently. The thin, wooden wall that separated Gendry’s small sleeping quarters from the front of the smithy protected her from being spotted. 

By the time Arya had pressed herself against the wall to listen, Gendry and Ser Trant were already deep in conversation. 

“I’ll need it done before tomorrow night. We sail back to King’s Landing in two days.” Trant said stiffly. 

“Of course,” Gendry replied. The rustle of metal against stone sounded. Arya assumed they needed swords or armor fixed. 

There was a pregnant silence. “Say, you aren’t from Braavos, are you?” Trant inquired. 

Another pause. “What would make you say that?” Gendry asked, his voice full of weariness. 

“Your accent. Or I suppose lack thereof. The Braavosi have a nasty voice. You sound like you’re from the Capitol.” 

“Flea Bottom,” Gendry corrected quickly. 

“What’s a boy from Westeros doing smithing in Braavos?” 

Again, Gendry took a moment to answer. “A Braavosi saw my work while in Westeros and offered me a position here. Better pay.” 

That seemed to satisfy Meryn Trant, for he switched the subject. “Have you heard about the Wall?” 

Arya could only imagine the surprise that etched across Gendry’s face. “No, Ser.” 

“There was an attack,” Trant growled happily, as if he were a Lady gossiping in the corridors of a castle. His excitement reminded Arya of Sansa when she would gossip to her ladies. “At the Wall. Wildlings broke through from the North.” He nearly chuckled. “Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard, is the Lord Commander of the Wall, which can explain why the protection of the Wall has fallen to shit.” 

Arya balled her hand into a fist, wishing that she could send Needle through his heart this very moment. 

“Is the Wall taken over?” Gendry asked.

Trant snorted. “No, the bastard managed to keep the Wildlings at bay, though with their size they could attack again, if they wanted.” 

“Well, thank the gods they didn’t lose.” 

“This time,” Ser Trant mocked. “My men will be back tomorrow afternoon to gather our supplies.” 

Arya stood silent until the echo of footsteps disappeared into the crowded streets. Panting sounded as Grey Wind entered the forge. “You can come out, Arya.” Gendry called.  
When she came into a view, her eye brow was arched. “When did you know I was here?”

Gendry chuckled. “When the Kingsguard spoke of your brother, I was certain that he was going to catch on fire from your glare alone.” 

“I couldn’t see through the panels,” Arya argued. As they spoke she spread the food from her satchel out on a plate that sat on the work table. 

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t pissed off,” he retorted, breaking off a piece of bread and popping it into it mouth. 

She scrunched up her nose at the black residue that was left on the loaf. “You could at least wipe your hands off. That’s good bread I bought.” 

Gendry smiled slyly at her, moving so he was only inches from her skin. Arya had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. The small of her back was pressed against the table. “You didn’t seem to mind last night,” he replied huskily. 

A shiver ran down Arya’s back, gooseflesh erupting on her skin. Deep blush colored her pale Northern skin, reddening her throat and cheeks. Gendry leaned down to kiss her when she slipped away from him. 

“We have to be careful, Gendry.” She reminded him, clearing her throat of the desire that had laced through it. 

“Of course, M’lady,” he responded with a bow. He laughed when a small, steel bolt flew through the air towards his head. Gendry ducked easily from the blow. 

 

 

It was nightfall when Arya entered the brothel. Whores with sheer clothing – if one would even call it that – scampered about. Men in castle forged armor laughed nastily, grabbing at young, pretty women. She had seen Meryn Trant come in a few minutes ago, so she grabbed for a tray of oysters that were left unattended by a tired seller. 

She weaved through the crowd, keeping her eyes forward and her head slightly bent, allowing her ink black hair to shield her face from anyone who may recognize her from King’s Landing. 

“Too old!” A familiar voice growled. Arya followed the echo until she was at the threshold of a private room. Thin drapes covered the entrance, keeping her out of sight from the unhappy customer. “Do you have anyone younger?” 

An older woman pursed her lips, glancing at a girl who couldn’t have been older than 11. She certainly wasn’t a whore. It’s possible the girl washed linens or prepared food and drink for customers. “What about her?” The woman asked, grabbing the young girls forearm, pushing her forward into the light.

Meryn Trant gazed over the girl as if she were a lamb and he were a lion. “She will do.” He muttered, tossing a small bag of coins for the purchase of the girl. “But have a better selection tomorrow,” Trant warned. 

He stalked forward, snaking his large hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into a back room to have his way with her.

“Girl!” The woman shouted, her glace directed straight at Arya. “What are you doing here?” She demanded. 

Arya looked down at the oysters, pulling the tray up higher, insinuating her sale. 

The woman rolled her eyes, pushing her back into the main room. “Unless you’re a whore, all sales are to be made at the front entrance.” She snapped. 

Suddenly, Arya had an idea. “I-I heard what the man was saying,” she began timidly. The woman crossed her arms skeptically, yet allowed her to continue. “I need more money, f-for my family. Can I serve the man tomorrow?”

She squinted her gaze at Arya, examining her stature and body. Although the Stark girl was nearly 17 now, her jacket swelled around her thin frame and she hadn’t grown. Without revealing or tight clothing, Arya could still be taken for an innocent, young girl. “Come back tomorrow evening. If the Ser chooses you, be my guest.” 

 

 

“Are you only mending swords for the Kingsguard?” Arya asked Gendry, a single finger running over the repaired, castle forged steel.

Gendry looked up from his work. He was sweaty from standing in front of the flames all day and his muscles ached from the rigorous work he had done. “Mostly,” he replied wearily. “A plate of armor, too. And a dagger.” He motioned to the blade that rested next to the mended swords.

It was a beautiful piece of weaponry. The handle was black steel, small, silver bolts lining down the middle. The blade itself was silver. Etches of biblical references lined the outermost of the blade, which had a wickedly thin point. 

Arya picked it up, examining it thoroughly. She ran her finger across the blade, poking the tip with her finger. A bright red bead of blood welled from the small wound. “Aye, careful.” Gendry chided, setting down his work to take the weapon from her hand, kissing her finger. “I figured you of all people knew these weren’t toys.” 

She was going to chide him for treating her like a child when she saw her blood stained on his lips. Rather than calling him bullheaded or an ass, Arya grabbed at the neck of Gendry’s leather apron, pulling his mouth down on top of hers. 

The metallic taste of her own blood sent a rush through her. She hadn’t a clue how tomorrow was going to pan out. If Trant recognized her from the beginning she wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against an entire group of Kingsguard. 

Arya would never say it out loud, but death did frighten her. 

Before she didn’t care. Jon was at the wall, Rob and her parents were dead, and she had no idea what the fates of Sansa, Bran, and Rickon were. But now she had Jon to protect. And Gendry. She had tasted happiness for the first time since she had left Winterfell and Arya never wanted to give that up.

But if she did, it would be fighting. And not without goodbye.

Which is why when Gendry pulled away sweetly, making an excuse to work, thinking he needed to respect her boundaries tonight, Arya didn’t let him go. She tugged on his hair and nipped at his bottom lip, deepening the kiss. She couldn’t walk towards the possibility of death without a proper farewell. 

“Aren’t you sore?” Gendry murmured against her neck. He had her pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His efforts to be a gentlemen nearly faded away when Arya was near. Now especially, since the last barrier between them had been broken. 

Arya whimpered as he nipped on the flesh at her collarbone. “The only ache I feel is for you, Waters.” She murmured with desire. 

 

 

Arya awoke a few hours later, her leg thrown across Gendry’s middle as her front was tucked snugly against his side. She laid there for a while, listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat against her cheek. Her hand was splayed out across his naked chest, hard muscle laying underneath his sated skin. 

She tilted her chin up to gaze across his handsome, sleeping face. His dark hair was unkempt, thanks to her tugging throughout their fucking tonight. Dark, long eyelashes brushed his cheekbones. Girls would kill for those, Arya thought. 

Dawn was threatening to break when Arya finally pulled herself from her lover’s sleeping form. Before she slipped out of the forge, she was sure to snatch the dagger from where it laid on the hearth.

Arya intended on having it deep in Trant’s chest before the night ended.


End file.
